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Rituals

December 7, 2017 Debra Balamos
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Besame Mucho - Sitges, Spain

A hot, strapless linen night. Damp cleavage, whirling skirts, mojitos, flickering votives.

My cheek on his shoulder. His hands on my waist.

A full white August moon. Shimmery waves lit with lunar light.

Heads swing back. I shake my hair. Lovers and guitars and splashes of pool blur past. 

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Vietnamese Market – Hanoi, Vietnam

 Bamboo. Tuk-tuks. French Indonesia post-Ho Chi Min.

Indigo, celadon and fuschia silk scarves brush my arms as I walk through evening Hanoi markets.

Blends of cumin, turmeric and ginger float beneath my nose. Fresh orange blossoms and other large round soft blooms turn my head.

A trio playing instruments move toward me through the crowd. The drum veers right, a

wooden flute and collection of bronze Buddhist bells swerve left. My head follows the bells, absorbing the twang of Asian sounds.

Dry carp and cod hang from a thatched roof across the road.

Dozens of lively merchants shout hải sản, cơm, hoa.- determined to get dong or dollars for rice, fruit and fish before sunset.

Smelts, shark fins and stringy sea creatures stretch across piles of ice in white plastic buckets.

A man with one tooth smiles at me from his stand. 

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Small Cathedral – Avignon, France

 Large. Quiet. Empty. Unplanned.

Peeking through the door, I step into an unattended mass in an 800-year-old cathedral in southern France. Flames inside red votives reflect from the altar’s glass icons.

Cold marble chills my feet thru the soles my sandals. A young a capella choir sings pure, clear, ethereal French hymns in four-part harmony with other-wordly sopranos. I move quietly to a back row and sit down. No one notices the creaking old worn church pew.

 

 

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